Sleep Through the End of the World
by Chasingpaper14
Summary: What if Tate had met Bo under completely different circumstances? Tate is a thief who always works alone, but after forming a friendship with a very special girl, finds that there are always exceptions to every rule and that friends can be found in the most unlikely of places. An AU fic.


Tate shifted his gaze from looking around the abandoned, desolate warehouse to rest back on the man sat across from him, elbows resting on the worn wooden table and hand's clenched in front of him in a posture that hinted he doesn't mess around when it comes to business. Tate knew this meeting held certain risks, and that the man was much more dangerous than his usual buyers, murder for starters frequently listed on his rap sheet - something Tate preferred to stay clear of. But a deal was a deal and right now he needed the money.

Usually Tate didn't take requests on what he stole, but the man had approached him with a rather generous sum of money to retrieve a painting. It was too good an opportunity to pass up, so Tate had reluctantly accepted and had stolen it straight from the wall of the Met in possibly his smoothest heist yet. Now he was coming to collect the payment. But a twisted feeling in his gut and the two goons stood either side of his buyer told him it probably wasn't going to be that simple.

"I knew you were the right person for the Job, Mr Tate. Let me see the painting and then we'll have a deal" the man spoke with a heavy Russian accent, leaning back in the cheap collapsible chair. He waved his hand through the air in a gesture that said 'go ahead'.

"I don't see my money" Tate made no move to grab the briefcase at his side, staring firmly back at the man suspiciously. He was tempted to leave and find another buyer for the painting, one carrying less risks, but he knew now that he was here they wouldn't let him go anywhere.

"Did you really think I would bring it here?"

"I hope you didn't come without it"

The Russian chuckled, smoothing his shirt out and leaning forward. "Prove to me you have what I asked for, and I will get it for you. Don't make this hard for yourself, Mr. Tate. I usually get what I want in the end"

A few tense seconds dragged out for what seemed like an eternity, but Tate finally reached for the briefcase and set it up on the table with more force than what was perhaps necessary, showing how uncomfortable he was with being told what to do. He unclipped the locks and opened it to show the man the painting he'd recovered. Tate didn't think it was anything special, just a bunch of water lilies floating on a pond, but then again he wasn't an artist. As long as it paid well he was happy.

"Well?" Tate questioned.

The Russian said nothing, but signalled to the man on his right who sauntered over to the car parked in one corner, taking a briefcase from the front seat. Then he walked around the boot, and Tate could only watch as he opened it and pulled a young girl out, yelling and generally making it as hard as possible for him to pull her over to where they were seated. Tate could see the girl had a faint bruise forming along her cheekbone, gentle brown eyes fearfully watching him.. The goon had a strong hand on her shoulder, and he forced her to sit down in a third chair beside the table. She must have only been about ten. Tate clenched his fists in anger and it took all his willpower to remain seated, and not stand up and throw a heavy punch square between the Russian's eyes. He wasn't sure how she fitted into all of this, but he knew she wasn't here by choice and the thought of anyone harming someone so young made him sick.

"What the hell is this?" he growled finally, standing up and moving a hand to close the lid of his briefcase. He was stopped by the Russian.

"Relax. I just want to authenticate my painting, before I hand over my money."

"How? She's just a kid"

"She's special, she seems to know this sort of stuff. Much easier than paying someone to do it and she hasn't made a mistake yet"

Tate winced at that, it must have meant the girl had been with them for a while. He was finding it harder and harder not to kill the son of a bitch.

The Russian lifted a hand and the goons stepped away from the young girl. "Tell me whether the painting's a fake or not, you know how this works"

The girl hesitated, sending a pleading look towards Tate that begged for help. Tate nodded, making a promise he was going to keep no matter what. He wasn't letting them leave with her, not if he could help it. She looked down at the painting, eyes narrowed in concentration. "It's beautiful" she murmured half to herself.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, don't make me ask again" the Russian warned, oblivious to the fixed look of pure loathing Tate was sending him. The Russian clearly had no problem with threatening a child, and it made Tate's stomach churn. The thief turned back to watch the girl, perplexed by how she was expected to be able to tell whether it was real or not, and why the Russian took such interest in her. He watched her study the painting in deep concentration, eyes roaming over every inch of the canvas. There seemed to be an exact moment when her eyes widened only slightly, but it was enough to signal that something definitely wasn't good. Tate was on the edge of his seat, weighing the pros and cons of his fight or flight decision.

"Well? Is it real?" The Russian asked again, clearly growing impatient, and a man of his type was not one to keep waiting.

The girl looked back up at Tate, concerned eyes all Tate needed to see to know that somehow, the painting was a fake. He cursed his bad luck, and wondered if the whole damn situation was a setup. It seemed too coincidental for him to happen to steal a painting that must have already been swapped by a forgery. He drew in a breath, wondering how easily he would be able to take on all three of them when all hell hit the floor. He decided he didn't have a chance.

He tipped his head only slightly at the girl, silently telling her it was okay. He knew if the girl lied, he would walk away clean but then who knew what would happen to her if she was found out.

"It's a fake..." she whispered, head dipping. Tate wouldn't have been surprised if it wasn't the first time she would have had to say that and just thinking about what she might have witnessed at the hands of these violent savages made him unsteady. Tate stood up just as a Hand belonging to one of the Russian's minions grabbed his shoulder and delivered a hard blow to his chest, making him double over. He heard the little girl scream.

"Take her back to the car" Tate heard the Russian order, and he could hear the girl yelling as she was pulled away, this time a foot colliding with the same place as before, knocking him to the ground. Tate was sure he heard a rib break, but the wind had been knocked out of him and he could only lay there.

"No! Stop it! Stop hurting him!" the girl was screaming now, struggling hard against the other goon who was trying to pull her over to the car.

The Russian seemed to ignore the girl's pleas, and nodded to the man stood by Tate who then kicked him in the jaw. Tate felt a trickle of blood run down his chin and he coughed, spitting onto the floor and curling away from the attacker who was continuing to punch and kick anywhere not protected by his fetal position. Black dots flecked his vision and the girl's voice was becoming much quieter and hard to make out even though she was only no more than a few feet away. He fought to stay awake, for her sake. He had to help her; he couldn't let them take her away.

"Stop it! Stop It!" The second scream was much louder, carrying a strange force with it that seemed to reverberate through the ground. Tate weakly lifted his head, only to see the pillars that supported the warehouse's roof begin to crash down one by one, as thought the building was literally coming apart like pieces of a jigsaw, each beam breaking away and falling to the ground. The warehouse was creaking and groaning with the odd disturbance, and if it hadn't been threatening to crush Tate like an egg then he would have found the whole situation almost magical.

The supernatural tirade was more than enough to scare the Russians, who had quickly fled the crumbling building. Tate tried to get up, knowing he needed to get up and get both him and the girl out of the building before they were killed. But as suddenly as it had began, everything just stopped. No more pillars fell, no more bricks hit the ground and sprayed shards across the concrete floor. Just...nothing. Tate heaved himself upright, pressing the flat of his hand gingerly to his mouth, finding the girl stood in the same place as before and looking very unsurprised by the events. She seemed to simply stare for a few seconds with a look of mild confusion and disbelief, panting only slightly, before she seemed to recover and quickly ran over to him.

"You're hurt" her obvious statement was spoken with innocence as she crouched next to him.

Tate, now aware he was still on the floor and suddenly feeling self conscious managed to painfully get to his feet, one hand holding his middle. "Just a few bruises, I'll be fine, stop fussing. How did you do that?" he quickly scoffed at his question, he was insane to even think the girl was responsible for what had just occurred. He concluded it must have been his concussion and disorientation that altered his view of events. His imagination must have made it out to be more than what it was, that was the only logical explanation for it.

But the girl just shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it" she replied standing up too, and still looking at him with concern.

Tate frowned. "Wait...so that was you?"

The girl nodded proudly, grinning from ear to ear, before turning and abruptly beginning to walk away as though she knew she was no longer needed.

"Whoa, hey wait a minute, where are you going?" Tate limped after her, still trying to wrap his head around the concept of what the girl had done.

"I don't know" came a self assured reply, the girl heading over to the door and apparently making no attempt to explain what had just happened.

"Where's your parents? Are you just 'gonna leave by yourself?"

"I don't know my parents"

"So you're on your own?"

The girl nodded, seemingly unaffected by that. Tate decided she must have been used to being on her own.

"Wait, what's your name?" The girl was now by the door, and Tate laid a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her. She turned around to face him. He was surprised to see even after everything she had been through, she looked at Tate without a hint of fear. It made Tate feel proud and somewhat special.

"Bo. What's yours?"

"Call me Tate" the thief replied, but was clearly preoccupied with thought. In his profession the last thing he needed was a kid trailing after him. And he wasn't good with kids. He wasn't good with people at all for that matter. But he couldn't just let her go off on her own, even if she thought she could manage by herself. He pondered on what to say only to find she was already outside, and he had to jog to catch up to her. The move was a mistake, for his ribs - already on fire - protested the sudden movement.

"Hey kid...Bo. Listen. Why don't you follow me for a while, I'm not headed anywhere and I can try and find us some food and a place to stay the night. I can't promise it will be anything special but you don't seem to have any money on you..." he checked his own pockets, realising he only had a hundred dollars. Even after almost dying, the Russians had still found time to take their money with them, and the painting was gone too. He was back where he started, but he'd survived worse. He knew what he was suggesting sounded short term, but deep down he knew there was something about this girl he just couldn't let go. He felt compelled to look after her.

Bo's face lit up at the prospect of company. "Sure!" she replied, continuing to skip down the wharf whilst singing softly to herself.

Tate shook his head to himself and set off after her. He still had a million questions he wanted to ask, a million questions buzzing around his concussed head and making it hard to think let alone decide how on earth he was supposed to look after a kid. He knew nothing about this girl, whoever and whatever she was, only that there was something special about her and she was not like any other ordinary kid. He smiled to himself. This girl was a mystery wrapped in a dozen puzzles, and he realised he was only at the beginning of putting the pieces together.


End file.
